In the annals of stupid questions posed by an interviewer — right up there with Barbara Walters many years ago asking Katherine Hepburn “What kind of a tree are you, if you think you’re a tree?” — was the query put to Eugenie Bouchard by a courtside ditz after the Canadian tennis star had just won her quarter-final match at the Australian Open Sunday.

It had been a hard-fought three-set upset against Ana Ivanovic and the first time any Canadian has advanced to the semis at that Grand Slam event. (Yay, Eugenie.)

There was tons of stuff that interviewer Samantha Smith could have explored, even in the slap-dash context of a post-match chat primarily intended to entertain the audience. We’re not talking Xs and Os tennis strategy here. Instead, Smith made this inquiry on behalf, apparently, of Bouchard’s admirers in the stands: “A lot of them are male, and they want to know, if you could date anyone in the world of sports, of movies — I’m sorry, they asked me to say this — who would you date?”

At this point, I’ll leave it for the Outrage Bloc to further slice-and-dice Smith for her excruciating sexism and infantilism, as many — within the reporting profession and without — have already done via Twitter and other social media.

But since Bouchard has put it out there, I have to ask: Justin Bieber?

Nice that Bouchard seized upon a fellow Canuck and all, and they’d make a cutsie glam couple. But. . . really?

They’re both just 19 years old. Yet I’d suggest Bieber is not actually age-appropriate for Bouchard. His fan base is much younger and more teeny-bopper giddy than that. I say this as someone who was recently dragged to watch Bieber’s new movie by a trio of girls aged 7, 9 and 14. While I cringed, they swooned. It required immense self-control not to spoil their pleasure. Once upon a time, I had a crush on Davy Jones from The Monkees. And David Cassidy from The Partridge Family. I understand the phenomenon of young hearts that pound with adoration for teen heart throbs. It’s a rite of passage.

Bieber’s rites — and numerous wrongs — of passage have been well-chronicled, migrating over from the entertainment pages of newspapers to the news section, even tall forehead op-ed territory. The tut-tutting has clearly had no impact on Bouchard and gazillions of other young females, which is actually heartening. They shouldn’t have their shrieking passions over-analyzed and mocked.

While befuddled by Bouchard’s stated craving for a dream date with The Bieb, I’m now feeling quite sorry for the guy, which is in itself ridiculous, given than he’s richer than Croesus and shows every indication of having a longer shelf-life than most teen idols. The kid was a child musical prodigy who puts on a spectacular stage show, even if the packaging is excessive.

His acts of purported misbehaviour aren’t so very awful and not much different from other young males who don’t have every tic and twitch documented for posterity. Well, posterity now translates into immediacy, with smart phones and bloggers etc.

I did much worse at his age, and older. Of course, I never peed my initials in the snow, as Bieber is alleged to have done the other day whilst hitting the slopes in Aspen. But that’s an exclusively male diversion. Girls make snow angels and, in my experience, are not fascinated with their own piddle.

This was one incident Bieber can’t blame on his trailing posse of paparazzi. The images of yellow-on-white were posted by someone in his entourage.

No mop-pail around to dispose of his bodily fluid this time, I guess.

Last week, the pouty-mouthed Bieb landed in the slop again for allegedly damaging a neighbour’s house in The Night of the Egging. Lots of eggs, a “vicious” attack in tabloid lingo, the home is in a posh gated community and clean-up cost is said to run to $20,000.

Perhaps Bieber doesn’t much like his neighbour and they — the whole passel of them in Calabasas, sounds like — don’t much appreciate his endless antics.

Hard to separate the outlandish gossip from the facts, though. Bieber, like all celebrities, is fair game for the non-fact-checked and could-be-true. TMZ on Tuesday walked back reports that the singer had sent text messages to ex and perhaps on-again girlfriend Selena Gomez that included pix of his “junk” (that’s penis). The original dispatch, which went viral, claimed Bieber had told Gomez to “f-off” after she’d pleaded with him to go to re-hab. But — BREAKING NEWS! — the texts are bogus, originating from a saboteur in Bieber’s camp who was looking to make big bucks from buyers.

Meanwhile, the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department is denying that any drugs were found during the raid on Bieber’s home following the egg-toss fury.

So maybe we should all hold off on the handwringing over allegations that Bieber has turned into a drug-crazed fiend on the verge of self-destruction, SECRETLY ADDICTED to something known in rap circles as sizzurp — a concoction made from prescription cough syrup, Sprite and Jolly Roger candy. Sounds lethal, no? So now Canada is known for a mayor who smokes crack and a pop star who purportedly guzzles a liquid saccharine high. Throw in some maple syrup and you’ve got a drink-up Bieber Beaver Tail.

Dubious, also, is the report that Bieber dropped 75-large — in one-dollar bills! — at a Miami strip club birthday celebration Monday night for his rapper pal Lil Scrappy. But I hope this tale of generosity is true. Why begrudge peelers that kind of appreciation?

Anyway, that’s it for me and The Bieb. I will now return myself to the regularly scheduled news.

And by the way, Katharine Hepburn answered Barbara Walters thusly: “I hope I’m not an elm with Dutch elm disease because . . . then I would be withering. I think everybody would like to be an oak tree. They’re very strong and very pretty.”

Justin Bieber is still merely a sapling, Eugene Bouchard too.

May their branches reach out and entwine. Awww. . .

Rosie DiManno usually appears Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday.

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